The Haystack Principle
by Galadriadhar
Summary: For a Pokemon with a weapon on its back, finding love is like searching for a piece of hay in a stack of needles.


The Megas have a song called "The Haystack Principle." It tells the story of Needle Man, who is actually a good guy inside, but his design prevents him from getting close to anyone. He hurts those close to him. The song is very reminiscent of _Wreck-It Ralph_.

The song was begging for a story based on it, so I put it down on my great list of ideas. While using the random Pokemon generator, I came across Genesect and Roserade. How perfect it was! "The Haystack Principle" showed itself, but it took a while to write what the story wanted to be. But finally, I was able to tell a story of a creature digging through a stack of needles looking for a piece of hay, getting hurt every time.

I hope you enjoy "The Haystack Principle."

THE HAYSTACK PRINCIPLE

I feel the unnatural protuberance on my back. I am still unhappy about it. It was painful to an excruciating degree. The only relief I feel about having this weapon is that it provided me a means of escape from the tormentors who placed it on my back.

I have run far, so very far away. A large, metal beast was treading water outside of the cave I was held in. I clambered aboard and the beast began to move. I was frightened that the beast would throw me off, but it disregarded my presence. Perhaps I was not the cause of its sudden movement.

When the metal beast stopped again, I found myself in a completely unfamiliar land. I extracted myself from the hole in the side of the beast I had found shelter within and sped into a dense jungle. It felt like home.

It still feels like home. The only issue is this weapon on my back. I feel off-balance. I find myself running into trees on occasion.

I neglect to mention the other issue. Something, some instinct, tells me this is not my home. The world seems stranger, in some way that I cannot place. There were never large metal beasts in the water in my home. I knew every creature in my world. Here, I know almost nothing.

There are no other specimens of my species anywhere to be seen, either. My species was numerous, but I can see no others here. There are others, ones that I recognize from what they were when I was numerous. I know them by different names. The ones that I knew as Elfuun are now Whimsicott. Yukimenoko are now Froslass, and Tsutaja are now Snivy.

There are ones that I don't know. One species in particular grabs my attention: Roserade. They are beautiful, with roses on their hands. They are able to extend fingers from the roses, fingers as sharp as thorns. Beautiful and deadly, the Roserade are. I find myself irresistibly drawn to them, especially one in particular. She is the most beautiful of all, with gray and purple roses instead of red and blue, but the others seem to shun her. They say she is different, and that is a bad thing. I disagree. I think it is wonderful.

The first morning I saw her, I tried to speak to her, but I could only produce guttural sounds. It is my native tongue, and it scares her away.

I am now learning the tongue of these creatures. I sit in the bushes, listening and repeating the words to myself. It is slow going. My species is not known for learning unnecessary things quickly. We are able to learn the movements of our prey, the phases of _Lunata_, and the seasons, but other things that do not directly relate to our survival take a very long time to learn and remember.

Night passes, and day passes, and soon I have been learning for three phases of _Lunata_. Yet I still cannot remember everything. I wish I did, because I feel in my _jukulga_ that the Roserade will migrate soon. I will follow them, of course, but it would be much easier if they were to stay here.

* * *

One more phase passes, and the Roserade begin to move. I am confident enough in my speaking that I will attempt to converse with her.

I move out of my bush as the Roserade start leaving. She is near the back, on the outskirts of the pack of Roserade. That will make things easier for me. I approach her, making noise so that she is not startled. She looks up and seems to panic before calming down.

Opening my mouth, I hesitantly speak. "Hello."

She looks at me. "Hello, yourself." Her voice is marvelous. I am lost as to what to say next. Fortunately for me, she continues the conversation. "Why are you here?"

This is a question that I know how to answer. "I am here… because… you are beautiful."

She rears back, eyes wide in shock. I thought that was a good answer, but it seems like I have been too quick to the… punch.

"Okay… Please go away," she says, hurrying up to the rest of her pack who have moved far ahead.

I hang my head in despair. I have felt the shame of losing food, but this stings far more.

* * *

Following in the shadows, I keep with the pack. She is now in the middle of the group, telling them of her encounter with me. There are many gasps, and I know that I am being ridiculed and she is being consoled. For now, they have forgotten her differences.

All too soon, though, they push her away and into the back of the pack again. I want to go and talk to her again, but I am afraid. She is deadly. I have seen her take a full-sized Beedrill down by herself. If she can take down the creature that was the king of the hunt in my era, she can get rid of me easily.

As I follow, I rub the protuberance on my back. I hate it. It is a symbol of the aggression of the tormentors. I wish there were some way to destroy it, but I fear the pain. I fear that the agony will overwhelm my small body. But with it, can I truly hope to speak to her again? I do not know.

The first step will be to establish better contact. My mind kicks into movement, analyzing her and the environment, her behavior and the behavior of her companions. In a minute, I know that my best chance will be at twilight, when she is hunting for her pack.

The pack stops at a clearing for the night. _Solata_ begins to set, and she goes off on her own. I wait for a small period of time, then emerge. She is concentrating on an oblivious Combee. I know that the honey will be nourishing and powerful for the pack. I wait until she has dispatched it with a skilful sting before approaching noisily.

She looks over her shoulder before turning back to the work of preparing the Combee. "I thought I told you to go away," she says.

"You did," I say. "I… wanted to make things right. I am sorry for making you scared."

Standing up, she slings the Combee over her shoulder. "You didn't scare me. You made me feel uncomfortable. There's a difference. Buzz off."

I am puzzled. "I thought… I thought that, when someone wrongs another, it is generally accepted to make it better. Is it not?"

She sighs and places the Combee on a rock. "That is generally what is accepted, yes. But why are you trying to talk to me? And don't give me that 'you're beautiful' thing again. Did the others put you up to this? Are you trying to humiliate me? If so, you have another think coming. I've dealt with more than you."

I step forward, wanting to make amends, when my weapon begins to whine. I spin quickly and the blast destroys a tree. Horror fills me. Is this what I can do?

She gasps and runs off, Combee forgotten. I only realize this through the noise of her gasp and her feet. I look to the ground.

"How can I be this way?"

* * *

I examine the wreckage of the tree. It's completely shattered and splintered. I'm grateful that I was able to turn in time. She could have been injured beyond repair.

Sighing, I turn and look at the Combee. No doubt she is receiving a barrage of insults and comments because she didn't bring it back. I pick it up, surprised at how light it is. Or maybe it isn't light, and I'm just stronger. I don't want to think about things like that.

I push through the bushes until I can see the camp. She is sitting on the outskirts of the camp, head in her roses, body heaving. I get closer and realize that she is crying. Picking the Combee off of my shoulder, I push it out of the bushes toward her.

She looks up, face streaked with water. She is even more beautiful this way, though I prefer seeing her without tears. Glancing around in wonder and curiosity, she picks up the Combee and whispers to the air. "Thank you."

Seeing her carrying the Combee, head held high, I can't help but feel warm.

* * *

The pack is on the move again. I follow in the bushes again. She is walking more confidently than she had been last night. She was celebrated by the pack before being shunned again. But she doesn't seem to have let the shame get to her today.

I notice that she often turns her gaze to the bushes on either side of the pack. She smiles every time she does. I know that she is wondering if I am still there. I wish that I could tell her that I am, but I fear that the rest of the pack would object to it.

Twilight comes again, and she goes off again into the forest. I follow her again. This time, I am privileged to see her defeat a Vespiquen. The Vespiquen will feed the pack for days.

As she prepares it, I come out of the bushes. She hears me come and turns to me.

"Thank you," she says, and they are the sweetest words I have ever heard. "You saved me last night."

I cock my head. "How did I save you?"

She laughs lightly. I am mesmerized by the sound. "I would have been left behind if you had not brought the Combee back. Thank you." She walks toward me and lightly presses her mouth to my face.

My brain goes foggy, my vision blurs, and I feel as though my voice has come undone. She giggles and goes back to the Vespiquen. I am overwhelmed, and my weapon begins to whine. She turns to see what the whining is and, at that moment, my weapon discharges before I can turn. Her eyes widen and show the greatest fear I have ever seen. She looks as though she has been betrayed, and she has. The blast collides with her and sends her flying into a tree trunk.

Mind snapping back to normal, my eyes widen in horror. "Oh…" I race over to where she is now lying face down on the ground, unconscious. I take her arm and turn her over. The sight is haunting.

Her front is burned black. Her eyes are closed and she is breathing shallowly, for which I am grateful. But I cannot shake the image of her face right before the blast hit her. It is an awful memory. I do not want to remember, but I can see nothing else.

Footsteps pound the ground. I run.

* * *

My feet are moving too quickly for me to stop them. They finally stop when a tree root gets in the way. An anger rises, and I turn and blast the tree.

As the splinters fall around me, the rage subsides. I sit on a rock and cover my eyes. It is no use. Her face is in my memory. Her face when I betrayed her.

How could the tormentors have been so heartless? How could I have been so foolish as to assume I could build a relationship with her? I am a monster, a needle that cannot do anything but injure.

I stand, rage slowly building. How could I have been so blind to my own weaknesses? How could she have put up with me for so long? Could she not see my weapon, my ability to hurt? Of course she could. She was a better creature than I was.

The rage begins to consume me. I am nothing but a weapon. Those… tormentors did this to me. I can do nothing against them.

My vision turns red. Perhaps I should succumb to my rage, to what I obviously am. It would be far easier to be a… a horror.

As I am ready to fall prey to my emotions, a shred of light pierces my mind. The light spreads, pushing away the rage. I see what I was before the tormentors changed me. I was a peaceful flower herder. My thoughts have been contaminated by my weapon. I had thought I was a hunter. I never was.

The light shows me other things, too. Her gesture of kindness. Her gratitude. Her confident walk. All because of me, a peaceful creature at heart.

The rage lessens and the red fades. I begin to breathe deeply. I am calm once more.

A question still remains in my heart, though. How can I rid myself of this horrific protuberance once and for all? I look around for an answer and find a long, thick rock of black _basaltha_. _Basaltha_ is a strong rock, and I pick it up. It is perfect.

I feel for the opening of my weapon and, upon finding it, push the _basaltha_ into the opening. I can feel that the weapon is blocked. But this is not enough. Not for me. I must destroy the weapon.

Thinking about the tormentors, I let my rage build enough to start my weapon. It whines, but suddenly fails. I frown and let myself get overwhelmed with anger. The weapon begins to whine again, and this time it does not stop.

I feel the blast discharge and hit the _basaltha_. Finding no way past, the blast rebounds into the weapon.

"RAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHH!"

* * *

My internal clock tells me that two hours have passed. I open my eyes slowly. I do not feel any pain. I am surprised, since the rebounded blast caused such agony.

I reach back to feel the weapon and, to my great relief, I find a mangled protuberance attached by only a strand of flesh. I steel myself and pull it off.

A great weight lifts off of my shoulders. The presence of the weapon has been pushing me down more than I realized. I hold the weapon in my hand. It is ruined beyond all repair.

I push myself up from the ground, still holding the weapon. Then I run again.

* * *

It is an hour later when I finally find the pack of Roserade. They are tending to her, though there is evident disgust on their faces. I am ashamed to think of her traveling with them. They do not appreciate her for what she is.

I push through them, still carrying my… the weapon. It is no longer mine. It was never mine. They recoil in revulsion.

She is sitting and leaning against a tree. One Roserade is tending to her burns while another rubs juices on her face and skin. I am grateful that she is getting help.

Her eyes are slightly open, and when she sees me she tries to push away from me. I do not blame her. Fear fills her eyes, and I feel tears begin to form.

I hold up the weapon and drop it on the ground. She looks at it in confusion. "…What?" she croaks.

"I am sorry," I say. It is simple. I do not know where to begin apologizing for what happened. "I was given a weapon. It reacted to your gesture of kindness." I pause and sniff. "I am sorry."

She is no longer trying to get away from me. Gazing at the weapon lying on the ground, I can see her begin to put the pieces together.

"I wish to start over. Again," I say, hoping that one more chance can patch things up. I look down at the weapon and frown. "But I will understand if you do not want to try again."

Her eyes travel from the weapon to my face. I meet her gaze. She is calm, considering what to do. I admire that. I always will, no matter what the next few seconds bring.

"Are you… under your own control again?" She has grasped what words could not say.

I nod slowly. "I am. I remember myself. I am under my own control." I am. I know I am. The weapon affected my thoughts, but I could still think at times. Now, though, I can think at all times.

Her mouth turns up at the left corner. I am unsure as to what is going on. I have never seen such an expression.

"Then let's start over, one more time," she says, and the other corner of her mouth turns up. I do not know why, but this expression fills me with joy.

I reach out a hand and she takes it gingerly. I do not betray her; I lift her to her feet with gentle strength. She grasps my arm for support. I feel my mouth turning up, just like hers did.

She looks at me and laughs. This is the first time I have seen her laugh with her whole face, not just her voice. I wish I could be with her always.

"Will you… be with me?" I ask hesitantly. "You have taught me so much. You helped me destroy the other part. I don't want to leave you."

She glances upward. I look up, but on seeing nothing of interest I realize that she is considering. She is beautiful.

Looking back at me, she narrows her eyes. "I suppose so. You need taking care of. I'll take care of you if you'll take care of me. And," she says, lowering her voice, "I want to be with you, too."

I am filled with indescribable joy at her words. "I will."

The other Roserade are making strange noises. They sound like they will vomit, but I ignore them. "Come with me," I say, putting my other hand on her arm and leading her away. "We'll find our own place."

Her mouth turns up again, even broader than before. "That sounds wonderful, Miel."

"Is that a name?" I ask. "I've never had a name before."

"It means 'honey.'" She laughs.

"I love it. What is your name?"

"Fleur."

Off we walk, away from the life we used to know. Fleur leaves behind the shame of her pack, and I leave behind the horror of the weapon. We're going to try, one more time.


End file.
